


Let Me Come Home

by consultingasshat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Insecure Sherlock, John loves Sherlock unconditionally, M/M, Mentions of Mary, but!, idk what else to put, it's sorta angsty, mentions of Reichenbach, sherlock has nightmares, wheres your dfp sherlock now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingasshat/pseuds/consultingasshat
Summary: Home, let me come home,Home is wherever I'm with youOur home, yes, I am home,Home is when I’m alone with you John and Sherlock finally put the world to rights.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a birthday present for my wonderful friend [kim](http://beaniesforspock.tumblr.com)!! ze's the coolest kid on the block, y'all. and thanks, yet again, to my wonderful beta marion! i couldn't do this without them honestly

When John finally comes home, Sherlock is more relieved than he can ever imagine. He feels it throughout his whole body, the blood in his veins singing _John is home_ over and over again. He doesn’t make a big fuss, just helps bring John’s bags up the stairs and then makes tea for the both of them.

Things finally feel… right.

Mary is taken into custody by Mycroft’s people, the baby nonexistent. Sometimes, in the heaviness of John’s shoulders, Sherlock can see the lingering sadness and the disappointment of having fatherhood ripped away from him. But John easily settles back in Baker Street, and when he talks about Mary it’s always with a cool detachment.

Sherlock wonders if he ever even loved her.

He knows it’s a selfish thought, but his mind still dwells on it. _What if I hadn’t left? Would it have been me? Did he really love her, or was it just my absence?_

He hates these thoughts, because he knows that if John had somehow ever loved him, he wouldn’t now. Not after the years when Sherlock had left him.

So they fall back into a routine, John getting milk and Sherlock playing violin and both always being on the edge of something _more_. Sherlock sees this tipping point, feels it in John’s hand on his shoulder and cups of tea placed beside him, but he knows, knows John can’t love him. Not in that way. Not after the way Sherlock hurt him, not after a faked death perceived to be real.

John goes to the surgery, comes home. They laugh together, breathy and adrenaline filled, after cases. Sherlock wakes up to his own nightmares and so does John.

They don’t cross the invisible line into something more than friendship. Sherlock knows he’d be content to live like this forever, at John’s side, even if they never cross the bridge into something more.

Until the night he wakes up screaming.

He’s gasping for air, unsure of where he is, it’s as dark as the cell in Serbia and he hurts, he hurts _so much_ . His blankets are tangled around his legs and he can’t get out of them and he’s _trapped trapped oh god_ and he can’t breathe and-

There’s a cool hand on his forehead, delicate and gentle. _John_.

“You’re okay, Sherlock, I’ve got you.”

Sherlock stills, chest heaving and tears in the corner of his eyes. John’s perched on the edge of the bed, not touching Sherlock except for the palm still on his forehead, and suddenly it’s not enough. He tugs on John’s arm to make him move closer, soft hip pressed against Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock is still shaking.

“I know, Sherlock, I know, shh. You’re okay. I’m here and you’re okay.”

“John.”

“Yes?”

“ _John.”_ Sherlock whispers, turning on his side to curl around John and place his head in his pajama-clad lap. He doesn’t question what he’s doing. They’re friends. John can’t love him in any other way and that’s okay.

“Oh, Sherlock, okay, yeah.” John murmurs, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. “If you want to talk about it, you can. I’m here.”

Sherlock buries his face into John’s soft stomach, suddenly terrified. He’s been very careful around him, not talking about his time away at all or letting John know about his scars. He doesn’t want to remind John about how much Sherlock hurt him, ever.

But the flashbacks, the nightmares, the panic attacks that linger on feel like lead in his bones.

“I just… it was in… I was in Serbia. And I, was. I was hurt. They hurt me. And I just… it felt like I was there once more.” Sherlock’s shaking again. “It was just a dream, I don’t know why I feel like this.”

John continues to pet Sherlock’s hair, looking down at him with soft eyes. “You were scared then and you were scared when you remembered it. That’s okay.”

Sherlock stays still in John’s lap, letting his fingers mess with the hem of John’s shirt. He wants this all the time, this softness, this closeness. Even though he can’t have it, he _wants_.

“You’re very strong.” John’s voice is calm, gentle.

“I- I don’t understand.”

“I know you try to hide all of the awful things that happened to you, Sherlock. I’ve seen you flinch at loud noises and I know your fear of taking your shirt off in front of me. I don’t know if it’s for my sake or yours, but you are very strong for that.”

Sherlock is frozen.

“Oh, you… come here.” John says, and suddenly Sherlock’s world is tilting as he is pulled upright into John’s lap, hands automatically going to his shoulders. John is smiling softly at him, full of warmth, and Sherlock feels like he is still moving, despite the fact that John’s hands on his hips are keeping him grounded.

“John?” His voice comes out smaller and softer than he intended.

“You don’t have to keep your pain from me, you know.” John says gently, looking into Sherlock’s eyes. “It’s okay to not be alright about it.”

Sherlock feels like he’s in a hazy dream. “I cannot remind you about… that. I’m fine. I am fine.”

John’s hands travel up to Sherlock’s face, cupping each cheek gently, and suddenly he looks indescribably sad. “I forgave you for that long ago, Sherlock. I can’t forget it but I forgave you, I’d forgive you fifty more times if you needed me too”

“I- I hurt you! I don’t need your forgiveness, I don’t _deserve_ your-”

John’s lips are on his and Sherlock’s mind is only static.

There are small hands threading through his curls, and the scent of John’s shampoo fills all of Sherlock’s senses. He is drowning, maybe.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, John ghosting kisses over Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock barely breathing for the fear of breaking the spell. When John moves away, Sherlock suddenly feels colder.

“Is that why you couldn’t see what was going on between us? You thought I didn’t forgive you?” John is still very close, and Sherlock can feel the question brush delicately over his own mouth.

“No. Not quite.”

“Then, what? That brilliant mind of yours is quite observant, you know. It’s gotta take something pretty big for you to not see the way I look at you.” John’s still smiling softly and Sherlock wants to melt through the floor.

“I don’t- I don’t deserve this. Not after what I did to you.” Sherlock feels panic curl through his body and he tries to get up, to get out of the room before he says anything worse. Before his love for John pours out of his mouth unbidden.

John’s arms are around Sherlock, kind but firm.

“You deserve love,” John’s voice is low in his ear. “You deserve love and support and happiness and something you did years ago, something you did _for me,_ doesn’t change that fact.”

Sherlock’s world is spinning. Or it has completely stopped. He’s not quite sure.

John tugs him closer, and Sherlock turns so they are pressed chest to chest, his thighs bracketing John’s hips. He adores John like this, soft sleepy rumpled golden John, and now there’s another layer to that picture.

Love.

Sherlock can read it in the laughter lines around those dark blue eyes, in the way John’s hand cradles his face and the soft pink angle of his smile, in the curl of those small feet.

He wants to laugh. Or cry.

He ends up doing a mixture of both, a huff of breath that turns into a sob and suddenly John’s surrounding him, holding the back of Sherlock’s head as he sniffles into John’s neck. He’s shaking with sobs, feeling all of the pent up sadness and fear he let fester in him, but somehow it doesn’t feel awful. He’s alright with John, he’s okay, cradled in strong arms that he knows will keep him safe.

“John, I… _oh_.” Sherlock shivers as John starts kissing his forehead, then noses down to his cheekbones.

Sherlock wants everything.

“John, I want… I want to wake up to you every morning, and drink tea with you and hold your hand on cases and take you on dates even if I don’t want to eat and, uh-”

“I love you too, Sherlock.” John’s smile is bright enough to rival the sun.

Sherlock would do anything, _anything_ , for this man.

“Can we- can we sleep together?” As soon as the words are said, John’s eyes widen and Sherlock feels his face heat up to an almost unhealthy degree. “I- oh, I meant actually sleep.”

John answers by grinning and lowering himself back onto the bed, tucking both of them under the soft blankets as soon as Sherlock follows suit. He pillows his head on John’s good shoulder, feeling his eyes blink slower and slower.

“We’ve got plenty of time, love. We finally have all the time in the world.” John makes his point with a gentle kiss to dark curls, wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s slim torso as he brings their bodies closer together. Soon, the breaths against Sherlock’s neck are soft and even, and he feels himself start to drift into the darkness of sleep as well. His last thought, in the circle of John’s warm arms, is that maybe he could deserve this love, this wonderful man, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> the title and summary is from the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros


End file.
